


Catspaw

by Thanatopsiturvy



Series: In Search of Nine Lives [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dawnguard, Khajiits Are Sexy Fight Me, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn With Plot, Thieves Guild is The Best, Vampires, catching feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thanatopsiturvy/pseuds/Thanatopsiturvy
Summary: It had been almost over a year since Brynjolf had seen his fellow Nightingale, and the damn cat has the gall to just stroll into the Cistern like nothing had happened - with a strange woman, at that. Brynjolf has questions, but more than anything... the man has needs.





	Catspaw

**Author's Note:**

> [noot noot]  
> Hello, first Skyrim fanfiction here and it's basically just an outlet for my sexual frustration towards Brynjolf, (but hey, who's isn't?).  
> YES, my Dragonborn is Khajiit. After having viciously read through dozens of fics over the past few weeks, I've noticed a serious lack in desert cat-person love. [whispers] It's only furry if you identify as such. [/whispers]  
> So here, fandom, I offer you this tribute. This is most likely going to just be a one-off, but I love Azarahd as a character and wouldn't mind having him slut his way through Skyrim at some point. Not to mention the unresolved sexual tension between him and Serana...
> 
> I have a couple of little native Khajiit phrases in here, so here's some translations:
> 
> ahziss kah’jay - "my moon"  
> ahziss fass'i - "my sun"  
> Jzer Bzah - "Family"
> 
> Happy reading, you filthy animals.
> 
>  
> 
> **NOTE: This has been recently revised! As of 4/30/2019**

 

“Azarahd? Is that you, you furry bastard?” Brynjolf called out to a shadowy figure that landed silently at the base of the rickety Cistern ladder.

“Brynjolf,” he greeted in mock formality, removing his Nightingale mask and hood before shooting his guildmate a wolfish smile.

“By the gods, no one in the Guild has seen you since Sun’s Dusk last. Where in Tamriel have you been?”

 

A soft sound behind Azarahd caused Brynjolf to reach for his sword.

“Easy, friend,” Azarahd soothed, holding up his hands. “I bring with me a trusted guest. She is partially the reason for my prolonged absence,” he explained, stepping to the side to reveal a striking young woman. Her clothes were worn and tattered in places, though made of fine fabric and with excellent craftsmanship. She dressed as though she were royalty, but from another era. Brynjolf frowned, fixing his friend with a hard stare.

“Well I certainly hope she can be trusted since she’s now privy to the ins and outs of the Cistern,” he huffed petulantly. Azarahd smiled easily. Tilting his head coyly he walked forward to put one hand on Brynjolf’s armor-clad shoulder.

“I trust her with my life, dear friend. There is much I wish I could tell you and little time in which to do so,” Azarahd lamented. Brynjolf shifted under the weight of the Khajiit’s paw, eyes darting back to the woman briefly before returning to his friend’s.

“I have missed our…meetings, and I cannae lie that I might have hoped that we could… would…?”

“I most certainly would like to,” Azarahd cut him off. “That is partly why I bring Serana here to the Cistern with me. I wanted to give her the opportunity to rest in a place where she does not have to worry about being attacked.”

“Or robbed?” Brynjolf asked slyly, earning a purring chuckle from Azarahd before the Khajiit turned to address his female companion.

 

“Serana,  _ ahziss kah’jay _ , I would like to introduce you to my good friend Brynjolf.” Azarahd beckoned her forward. She walked with purpose, and despite being in a literal pit of thieves Brynjolf couldn’t seem to detect even a single sign of fear in the woman’s eyes. And what eyes she had - vibrant orange that nearly burned like fire. They haunted Brynjolf in a primitive, feral way. Her gaze made him feel small and vulnerable. He quickly looked between her and his friend, attempting to quell the surge of jealousy that hit his gut like an ice spike. Azarahd was a powerful man, Dragonborn aside. He was a skilled thief, a deadly assassin, and fiercely loyal to the few he deemed to be his family, or his  _ Jzer Bzah _ as he sometimes called it. Often times, in the beginning, when the Khajiit had first joined the guild, Brynjolf couldn’t help but wonder how they had gotten so lucky. But, then again, perhaps Nocturnal really had been looking out for them this whole time.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, lass,” Brynjolf held his hand out cordially. She shook it with a smirk, her skin icy cold to the touch. Brynjolf jerked his hand away a little faster than he meant to.

 

“Thank you for your kindness. Ahz has spoken quite fondly of you,” she commented. Brynjolf rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly.  _ Ah, she’s given him a bloody nickname _ . His eyes shot to the Kahjiit, who was currently studying a particularly interesting crack in the floor.

“Well you’re more than welcome in our little home. It’s not much right now, but we’re getting back on our feet. Azarahd, you should introduce the lass to Vex and Delvin, make sure everyone knows she’ll be staying here with you for a bit. Whenever you would like to…” Brynjolf paused, feeling awkward. “I’ll be at the desk whenever you’re …” Azarahd gave him a look that made his jaw click shut.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Azarahd assured. “I ran out of Black Briar mead many months ago and am very much looking forward to sharing a bottle with you.” He winked smoothly before turning to guide Serana through the Cistern.

 

Brynjolf let out a huge sigh, scratching his head roughly. He was too old to be acting like a damn schoolboy. Gods curse that damned Khajiit.

 

\---

 

“He seemed... nice,” Serana offered as Azarahd led her through the hidden passage to the Ragged Flagon. “I don’t think he liked me.”

“Nonsense,” Ahz waved off. “You’re just… intimidating.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we fed before coming down here. There’d be no hiding our eyes in this gloom. I thought he was going to stake me where I stood back there earlier. He looked afraid,” she continued, rambling slightly.

“Again, you speak nonsense. Brynjolf has barely had any contact with our kind. He wouldn’t even know what to look for. You are safe here. And out of the sun, so you’ll be able to fully recover.”      

“Are you going to tell him what you are?” she asked, turning to stop Azarahd from walking any further. She placed one small hand on the Khajiit’s broad chest. Ahz’s gaze dropped down to her hand before looking into her eyes. They still glowed faintly in the darkness of the passage.

“If the subject is broached, I will not lie to him,” he said softly, but definitively. “He deserves the truth, always.” Serana smiled before taking her place at Ahz’s side again.

“You two seem like you’re close,” she commented offhandedly. Azarahd didn’t respond.

 

-

 

Vex did not like Serana. Delvin muttered something about pots and kettles, but Ahz was too busy trying to calm Vex down to overhear.

“As I told Brynjolf, she is to be  _ trusted _ ,” he ground out through gritted fangs, ears flat and one strong hand pressed against the woman’s shoulder. Vex was still refusing to back down, pointing accusingly at Ahz’s chest.

“You drop off the map for almost a year and then you show up in the Cistern with an outsider? I know you think you’re hot shit, but what makes you think you can just bring any  _ tart _ with a pretty face down here, cat? I don’t care how much you’re paying her to suck your cock!” Bits of spittle landed on Azarahd’s face as Vex spit out the last of her sentence. Ahz’s movements were nearly imperceptible, and to Vex’s credit, she barely flinched as the steel of his dagger threatened to bite into the small sliver of exposed skin at her neck. Dirge made Angry Human Noises behind him, but was quickly held off by Delvin.

“May I remind you, Vex,” Ahz spoke slowly and calmly. “That while the Guild is like a family to me, it is not my only family. I do not take kindly to slander against those I care for.” The dagger burned with magic, pulsing against Vex’s skin. She fixed Azarahd with the most hateful glare she could muster, before finally rolling her eyes.

“Tuck your dick in, Azarahd,” she sneered. “You’ve always been so dramatic. I’ll refrain from further insulting your little… girlfriend. But don’t act like you run this place.”

“Yet,” Ahz said under his breath as he turned away from her, sheathing his dagger.

 

Serana looked amused and slightly admonishing.

“Was that really necessary?” she asked coolly, standing near the Flagon’s bar with one hand on her hip, a picture of absolute composure.

“I could not allow her to dishonor you,” Azarahd replied tersely, crossing his arms.

“My honor is fine, Ahz. I can handle myself. You should know that by now.”

“Well,” Delvin cut in, moving closer to Serana’s side. “For what it’s worth, I like ya quite a bit.” He smiled toothily. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll keep ole’ Vexie from pullin at yer ponytail while yer down here wiv us.”

“Glad to know I’m not just making enemies,” Serana said, smiling in Azarahd’s direction. “I’ll be fine, Ahz. Go get a drink and catch up with Brynjolf. I’ll find a place to sleep.”

“Sleep?” Delvin interjected. “But it’s the middle of the day!”

“She is very tired, Delvin,” Ahz responded for Serana. “We have been traveling for many months, mostly at night. We do not sleep at normal hours.” Delvin nodded knowingly.

“I see, I see… well, come on, love, lemme show you where you can catch some shudeye.” He placed his hand on the small of Serana’s back, leading her out of the Flagon. “Oh and, Azzy, when you go and have your… drinks wiv Bryn, do make sure to give Keerava my regards.” Delvin gave him a knowing look and Azarahd cursed the cleverness of the Breton.

 

\---

 

Brynjolf was pretending to pour over the ledgers when Azarahd walked back over.

“Shall we head to the Bee and Barb for a pint, my friend?” Ahz asked, leaning casually against the Guildmaster’s desk.

“Ah, y’know lad, there’s just so much work to get done,” Brynjolf teased, refusing to look up. “I might need a bit of convincing.”

“Well.” Azarahd’s smile was that of a predator. He flexed his hands against the desk, allowing his claws to slide into view for a moment. “I suppose it is fortunate, then, that I am known to be quite persuasive.” This elicited a laugh from the Nord.

“Aye, alright, alright. I can’t say I missed those claws,” he chuckled.

Azarahd winked. “You missed the claws.” 

  
  


Out of the corner of his eye, Azarahd could see Niruin watching them from the archery range. The damn Bosmer was one of the only people in Skyrim that could handle a bow better than him. He often found himself oscillating between awe and envy at the elf’s skills. It was no secret that Niruin preferred relations with men, nor did he make any attempts to hide his attraction to Brynjolf from the Guild. The wood elf turned away from the two as they left, letting loose a particularly aggressive arrow which thunked loudly into the wooden dummy across from him. Ahz half figured that the elf was so blatant about his attraction to the guild master because he seemed to know, in his heart, that nothing would ever come of it. In all honesty, nothing was supposed to happen between Azarahd and Brynjolf either. They just kind of fell together one night.

 

It was after the Nightingale trials – when Ahz had walked the Pilgrim’s Path alone. He came out the other side most certainly looking worse for wear - singed and bruised, exhausted and grinning like a man who had cheated death.. Brynjolf fussed over him like he’d never seen, first lashing out in anger, before calming down to express his genuine worry. Azarahd sighed fondly as he watched Brynjolf gather his belongings, allowing his mind to wander back to that fateful evening.

 

-

 

_ It was later that night, after emerging from the Nightingale temple. They had bid their adieus to Karliah before setting out to make camp before returning to Riften. Azarahd found himself under the open sky and the shining moons nestled by a campfire, belly full of mead, mind swimming with Nocturnal’s words, and his head in Brynjolf’s lap. The Nord was absentmindedly petting him as he took a swig from his own mead, running a calloused hand across the top of his head repetitively. _

 

_ “I am not a common house cat, you know,” Azarahd grumbled, a small smile tugging at his lips. He felt Brynjolf jerk his hand away. _

_ “Ah, sorry lad, I didn’t even realize I was doing it. The mead has my head fuzzy.” _

_ “No, it is fine. You may continue.” There was a pause before Brynjolf’s hand returned, this time more attentive in its movements, a thumb training between Azarahd’s eyes, sweeping up one of his long, tufted ears, carding through his fur with a kind of curiosity that made the Khajiit’s heart sing. _

_ “It has been too long since I have been touched with kindness.” Ahz sighed contentedly, stretching languidly. He felt Brynjolf’s hand pause at the crown of his head. _

_ “Well that’s a cryin’ shame,” he rumbled deeply. “Although I can’t say it’s been too recent for me, either.” _

_ “Are you saying you’d like for me to pet your head next?” Azarahd offered with a laugh, his voice slurring slightly with mead as he cracked one eye open to gaze up at the man. _

_ “Careful, lad. There’s still a bit of a language barrier with you sometimes… you don’t know what you might be offering,” Brynjolf warned playfully, but Ahz could hear the strain in his voice. _

_ Azarahd tilted his head coyly. “Perhaps I know better than you think.”  He reached up to run a hand over the Nord’s matted hair. _

 

_ “You should take better care of your fur. You have so little of it to begin with,” Ahz commented offhandedly, toying with strands of Brynjolf’s red locks. Brynjolf bowed his head to allow the Khajiit more access as the clawed hand roamed to the base of the Nord’s neck, gently scratching across the exposed skin. Azarahd could smell the mead on the man’s breath above him, as well as the arousal that stirred in the air between them. _

 

_ “May I…?” Azarahd began but was cut off by Brynjolf bridging the gap between their faces to press their lips together. It was awkward, mostly because it was upside down, but also from the timidity of the Nord’s movements. _

_ “I can tell you have never laid lips to a Khajiit before,” Azarahd purred, as they broke apart. _

_ “I can’t say I have,” Brynjolf admitted, voice low and deep. “But I also can’t say I’m not willing to explore my options.” _

 

_ With a low growl, Azarahd moved out of Brynjolf’s lap and whirled on him, pushing the Nord to the ground, straddling his hips. His tail swung excitedly from side to side as he demonstrated to the Nord just exactly how one went about kissing a Khajiit. The night around them trilled with the songs of Midyear animals and insects as the two men fell into each other under the multicolored Skyrim sky. _

 

-

 

“Are you okay, lad?” Brynjolf’s voice snapped Azarahd out of his daydreaming. He shook his head to clear his thoughts before smiling at his friend.

“I’m fine. Simply reminiscing on old times. Good times,” he supplied with a soft smile. “Come. Let us have drink and make merry.” 

 

\---

 

By “make merry”, Azarahd meant perform lascivious fellatio. Brynjolf groaned loudly, fisting the fur on the top of Ahz’s head as the Khajiit ran his textured tongue up the underside of the man’s cock. They had spent long enough at the bar to chat up Keerava, down several pints of mead, and swap adventuring stories before hastily retreating upstairs to the special room Maven always had available for members of the Guild. Now, Azarahd found himself on his knees very much relishing in the sounds he could draw out of the Nord.

“Damn your mouth,” Brynjolf huffed out as Ahz took his entire length before pulling off with a wet pop.

“Bed,” Azarahddemanded rising to his feet and unbuckling his belt. Brynjolf moved with the haste of a thrall and, damn it, Azarahd loved to see the Nord like this – so eager to please, desperate for his touch and his attention. Azarahd ran a soothing hand over the small of Brynjolf’s back as the man perched on his hands and knees in anticipation, his other hand reaching for a small vial of oil they had set out on the bedside table. He let the oil drizzle slowly, tortuously between the clefts of Brynjolf’s rear.

 

“Please,” the Nord nearly whimpered, half-drunk from the mead, the other half from desire. Azarahd chuckled darkly, leisurely thrusting into his own fist a few times to slick it with oil before slowly pressing the tip firmly against Brynjolf’s entrance.

“I must go slow,  _ mir Fass’i _ , for you did not prepare yourself. You are too greedy, as always.” He taunted the man gleefully as the head of his cock slowly pushing Brynjolf open. This time the Nord did whimper, fisting the rough fur sheets as he let his head drop to the bed.

“You’ll be the death of me, cat,” he hissed, arching his back and letting out a low grown as Azarahd’s length made more progress.

“I certainly hope that will not be the case,” Ahz replied coolly, letting his eyes fall closed as the heat of Brynjolf’s entrance slowly consumed him.

 

Without warning, Brynjolf bucked back against the Khajiit, slapping their hips together in a sudden jerking movement, causing both of them to cry out.

“So greedy,” Azarahd panted, lightly digging his claws into Brynjolf’s hips, cracking a dangerous, fanged smile. “Let’s see if we can satisfy your appetite, hmm?” With a swift motion, Ahz began to set a brutal, pounding pace – each thrust earning a sharp, keening cry from the Nord.

“Gods yes…” Brynjolf huffed, pushing back against his bedmate to intensify the power of the thrusts. Azarahd knew he wasn’t going to last long at this rate, but he didn’t care. It had been months since he’d seen any action, and most times he and Brynjolf went for more than one round anyway. The Khajiit let his eyes roll back, a deep growl settling in the back of his throat as he felt his climax quickly approaching. With a shout, Ahz let himself tip over the edge, hips stuttering to a halt as he came. Brynjolf shook with fatigue and strain beneath him, but allowed Ahz time to recover and pull out. Azarahd gripped the man by his hips, flipping him onto his back. He stared down at Brynjolf through half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily. 

“Touch yourself,” Ahz commanded, and Brynjolf’s hand flew to his dick without a second thought. He barely took any time, especially once Azarahd slid the pad of his finger across the Nord’s sensitive, cum-slicked hole. He came with a strangled moan, breaking eye contact and shooting hot ropes of cum across his stomach and chest.

 

They let the silence linger between them for a moment, each breathing heavily. Finally, Azarahd let out a breathless, rumbling laugh, smacking Brynjolf playfully on the side of his thigh.

“Just like old times,” he grinned before moving to grab an old cloth from his satchel. He tossed it to Brynjolf who, miraculously, caught it in mid air.

“Aye,” the Nord agreed, also breathless, as he began to clean himself up. “You gotta let me know before you disappear like that again. You’ve no idea the pent up aggression I’ve been holding back.” He laughed deleriously. Ahz joined him on the bed, chuckling lowly.

“I perhaps have an idea,” he purred, wrapping an arm around Brynjolf’s torso and slid their bodies together. The two kissed lazily in their post-coital bliss. Brynjolf ran his hands down the back of Azarahd’s neck, weaving his fingers through the thickened fur there, pulling him closer. Ahz rubbed small circles across Brynjolf’s hip bone with his thumb, relishing the way his own body hummed with contentment. Azarahd finally settled his head against Brynjolf’s shoulder, nuzzling slightly before they settled into an amicable silence next to each other.

 

“So… are you going to tell me where you’ve been or not? I couldn’t help but notice you seem to be avoiding the topic,” Brynjolf finally asked. Azarahd sighed loudly against his shoulder.

“I joined up with the Dawnguard,” he said after a long pause.

“The… vampire hunters? You?”

“Yes, yes… a far too noble pursuit for the likes of me…” Ahz dismissed bitterly.

“Now, lad, you know that’s not…”

“Of course it didn’t exactly pan out the way that they intended. Or the way I intended for that matter.”

Brynjolf paused for a moment. “Are you still with them?”

“No,” Ahz let out a sharp, almost bark of a laugh. “Not even remotely. Everything changed when I met Serana.”

 

“What’s your relationship with the lass?” Brynjolf asked carefully after a long moment. Azarahd could hear the strain in the Nord’s voice.

He smirked knowingly, pressing the corner of his mouth against Brynjolf’s shoulder. “She is my traveling companion. I helped her out and she helped me in return. Why? Are you jealous?” 

Brynjolf scoffed, a bit too loud. “Of course not, you damn cat. But you blow into the Cistern with a lovely young woman, of course we all want to know how a mangy animal like yourself managed to find such a beauty.” Azarahd laughed at his friend’s defensiveness, bringing a hand up to Brynjolf’s cheek to force the Nord to look him in the eye.

“The same way I always do – with the blessings and luck of Nocturnal,” he purred, letting his eyes fall closed and leaning in for another kiss.

 

“Um, lad,” Brynjolf interrupted, voice wavering. Azarah’s eyes snapped back open. Brynjolf’s expression had shifted into something nervous, if not  _ frightened _ .

“Yes, _ ahziss fass’i _ ?”

“Your eyes… they’re… different,” Brynjolf’s voice had dropped to near above a whisper. The Nord suddenly had the look of a trapped animal, as if something primitive had awoken in his brain. Ahz said nothing, refusing to break eye contact and refusing to back down. Had it really been that long since he’d fed? He felt a swirl of power pooling in his abdomen as an answer to his question

“What do you mean?” he asked, knowing just how calculating and cold he sounded. Brynjolf was smart – sometimes too smart for his own good. He felt the man begin to shift away from him.

“You’re not… with the Dawnguard anymore…” he mumbled, still trying to scoot away, but Ahz stopped him, placing two large hands on each of Brynjolf’s shoulders, pinning him to the bed.

“Brynjolf,” Ahz poke sternly and he saw the Nord pale slightly. “Are you afraid of me?” This caused the man beneath him to laugh weakly.

“I’ve always been a bit afraid of you, lad,” he admitted with a sideways smile. Azarahd returned his smile as gently as he could, repressing the sad, bitterness the words made him feel.

“I will not hurt you, old friend. No matter what. Please, never let yourself believe that I would let harm come to you in any way.” He brushed a hand delicately over the Nord’s auburn hair.

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you lad?”

 

Damn the Nords. Damn Skyrim. Damn the dragons. Damn the whole…. Damn…. Prophesy. Azarahd let his eyes slide closed, loosening his grip on Brynjolf’s shoulders. He slid off the bed and began to fish around for his clothes.

“Yes,  _ ahziss fass’i _ . I am.”  

 

There was a long pause behind him as Azarahd continued to shuffle about, picking up the different pieces of his ensemble that had been hap hazardously strewn across the room in their earlier frenzy.

“And just how long were you planning on keeping that little secret to yourself?” Brynjolf chided, sounding mildly hurt and very annoyed, but not at all reacting the way Azarahd had expected.

“You…” the Khajiit paused, pants in hand, turning around to look back at the Nord still splayed out across the bed. The man looked glorious – naked, muscular, hair mussed from sex, and even the annoyed, petulant look made him somehow even more attractive in the moment.

“We are trying to find a cure,” Ahz explained instead of saying what he was actually thinking. He turned away again, beginning to dress himself.

“We? We! You mean the lass you brought with you is… you mean we left her  _ alone _ with the Guild?”

“She is honorable and wouldn’t dare to cross my people,” Ahz assured with such authority that Brynjolf seemed to immediately calm himself.

“Lad, you could have told me,” he said softly. 

Azarahd sighed heavily, whiskers flexing as he grimaced. “You, of all people, should understand the importance of remaining inconspicuous.”

 

Brynjolf also got off the bed and began to put his clothes back on. The silence between them was heavy and Azarahd felt the weight of it pressing down into his core. He was unsure of what to say to make things right. To make things  _ comfortable  _ again.

“Well, if you’d have been honest with me, I could have easily told you about Falion.”

 

Azarahd spun on his heels to face Brynjolf only to see the Nord smiling enigmatically at him. “Who?”

“Falion,” Brynjolf repeated. “A wizard up in Morthal. There have been rumors around for a while that he’s, y’know… found a cure.” Brynjolf crossed his arms over his chest, giving Ahz a scolding look. “You can always trust me, lad,” he said, voice low and genuine. Azarahd felt his feet move, but only processed what he was doing when he felt Brynjolf’s body pressed flush against his own. The other man hugged him back, fiercely, and Ahz tried not to feel shame for his open display of emotions.  

“Thank you, old friend,” the Khajiit whispered, eyes glassily focused on the opposite wall over Brynjolf’s shoulder.

“We’ll just say you owe me one,” the Nord replied, smiling against the fur of Azarahd’s neck.

 

That was a promise the Khajiit could keep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Baawww... soft bois. I love me some of that. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed my little story! I currently have a second one in the works that will be a multi-chapter slow burn involving a completely different Dragonborn asshole, as well as taking place on the beautiful, tropical getaway island of Solstheim with everyone's favorite masked merc. Stay tuned! And stay golden, dragonboy.


End file.
